Run
by The Wet Noodle
Summary: Cheetahs are the underdogs of the African savannah. Amali tells her life story of woe, love, hate, predjudice, and the general tragedy in an attempt to teach her grandchildren a final lesson before she passes on.
1. Prologue

**The sun was setting** over the savannah. A pair of young felines slunk through the grass, glancing about constantly. They appeared suspicious of every shadow, jumping at every scuffle. They two were nervous, that was for sure. The female sniffed about. "This way," she said, heading northeast. Her male companion followed. The two looked exactly the same age. Which was the case, since they were brother and sister, of course. Both were just reaching their prime, growing into their legs and walking with all the grace of their kind.

The two cheetahs eventually found themselves at a pond that was surprisingly clear. Old Amali's Pond. Their grandmother. "Grandmother?" called the male, his tone filled with worry. Through a bush, there came the old cat. She was certainly getting on in age. Even now, the young pair could see that she had once been very beautiful, even for a cheetah. Aside from the usual 'tear marks' that came down from the inside of her eyes, there was a black image of a monarch butterfly, one eye in the middle of each wing. Of course, it was just vaguely shaped like a butterfly. These days, some even referred to her as "The Monarch", for how everyone seemed to respect her and her opinion - despite the fact she never told anyone what to do.

"Grandmother," the two exclaimed, rushing forward, their faces serious and eager all at once.  
"Zambili? Morus? What are you two doing here?" questioned Amali gently. Her whiskers drooped with age, and her once dark gold muzzle was splashed with silver. Her coat looked rough and shaggy, and she was getting a bit bowlegged. However, her brilliant sapphire eyes were gentle and wise as ever. Old Amali was one of the oldest cheetahs alive, and she had always been one to turn to when in need of a shoulder to lean on that had a good head attached to it.

"Grandmother, you are in great danger!" cried Zambili urgently, her own eyes just as pretty a blue as her grandmother's. "The lions are on the rise. The Rebellion plans to fight back, of course, but..." Her gaze clouded with grief.  
"Child, the fight will be pointless," sighed Amali. "We are but cheetahs. We have always lived alone. We have no idea how to organize ourselves like lions do."  
"But we can change!" argued Morus, his brown eyes ablaze, his jaw set. Amali smiled. Her grandson reminded her of her mate... rest his soul. She couldn't believe Morus. She couldn't believe a whole race could change. Not in a few days. Not in a few years. "No, really, we can! We can learn to be together, to work together. We can learn... we can..." His protests grew quieter as he squeezed his eyes shut, looking angry and despairing all at once.

The Rebellion was fighting a losing battle.

Shaking her head, Zambili looked at her grandmother in earnest. "Regardless, Grandmother, you have to leave. You'll be in great danger. You're right in the middle of the warpath." She appeared very worried for the elder cheetah. "They'll be coming through here by noon tomorrow. We know you're not... as fast as you used to be, so we wanted to move you early."

Instead of complying, slowly the old cheetah lay down, putting her head in her paws and sighing. She looked very, very tired. "Child... I cannot go. Not tonight. Not any night. I am too old to move far anymore. My time will be here in days." She spoke very gently, with no bitterness in her voice. However, her grandchildren appeared horrified, and immediately started mewling protests.  
"No Grandmother -!"  
"It can't be -!"

"Hush, my darlings," whispered Old Amali. Immediately they fell silent, their gazes filled with sadness and concern. "Please... this is the truth. Whether I die of old age, or perhaps a bit sooner in the jaws of a lion, it doesn't matter. However, before I go, will you do me one last favor? Fulfill the last wish of an old woman?" She smiled quietly. The two nodded solemnly. Anything for their grandmother. She had been one of the mildest cheetahs they ever knew. Once she passed her days for youth, living into an age that very few reached, she had become very open to visits.

"You know, my sweetlings, that I am not one much for talking in my old age. Although, you'd think the contrary when I was young." She chuckled sadly. "In these past years, I have enjoyed listen to the problems of my children and my friends, and my grandchildren as well. But now, I want you to do me a favor and lend me your ear. You two will be the only to hear my last story. And you'll be the only ones to hear this very special one." They lay down near Amali, watching her with sorrow. "Now wipe off those long faces. I want you to hear my life story, and I want you to be good listeners, my darling grandchildren. And when I am done, I want you to pass on the wisdom of all my experiences to your own children, so our people can grow better."

Pausing, she glanced at Morus. "Perhaps, in the future, our people can live together in harmony, as the lions can do," she acknowledged. "But first, they must learn from the past mistakes. And I want you to listen, and learn, and teach."

After taking a long drink from the pond, one of the last she'd ever have, she was silent for a moment. And then, Old Amali began to recount her life.

A/N: A new story! I'm very excited about this one. Ignore the whole talk about the Rebellion in this. Obviously, that's fodder for another tale.


	2. Childs Play

_Let's start from the very_ beginning. When I was born. I was part of a litter of four cubs. The last born, my youngest brother, died just days after, and I only know he existed because my mother told me. Although we would not know it then, I was of the last batch of children Jambi - my mother - ever had. I was also the only female among the quadruplets.

I had a brother born before me, Leks, and one born after me, Ures. We were quite the trio, I must say. Our mother could barely keep up with us. And oh, she knew there were great dangers out there, so she tried to keep us close in that first month. Let me tell you a bit about your uncles, first.

Leks may have been the first born of us, but he was probably the most naïve. He expected the best from everyone and had a bit of a complex where he thought himself invincible. I swear, he was always leaping into trouble without thinking. There were all sorts of odd situations he managed to get us into. But we'll talk about that more, later.

Ures is a bit difficult to describe, and you'll see why soon as well. My memory has trouble stretching so far back. He was... calm. Sensible. Brave. One couldn't ask for a better brother, one more caring. What he did for us was quite honorable, and I want you to remember that honor carries more weight that anything in our world. Respect all, but especially those whom are honorable.

Our earliest days were all of laying in the grass and playing, or else suckling from our mother. We didn't question our existence, or whether we were the only ones. Indeed, we were alone, our tiny family group. I hear some are trying to change this tradition. Although I try to think I grew up fine, I have no opinion on whether it would be for better or for worse for we cheetahs to become Pride-like animals. While you, Morus, a male, find it easy to accept group life, we females have a harder time about it. While it would perhaps make us stronger - make us as fearsome as the lion and the hyena - it may just destroy us. Us women aren't known to be a highly tolerant group. There is no guaranteeing what could happen. After all, the only thing that remains the same is that things will always change.

Ah, back to the story. Now where was I?

Oh, yes, I'll share with you some of my first childhood memories. One such was the first time I ever saw my mother first on the hunt.

I was merely four weeks old, not old enough to learn how to start hunting on my own. She had decided to demonstrate it before us three. While we would not be able to join her in the chasing for a while, she thought it best for us to learn our skills as soon as possible. There is always a chance of fatality in our world, as you children know. We are faced with danger at every turn. Running is all we can do. We cannot fight. We cannot climb. Our strength of might was sacrificed in a build for speed. Of course, running is our lives. It is everything. Only the fastest can survive. That's why we race so often. I suppose you could call us a flashy lot. We like to win each other's attentions by showing off.

Oh, there I go, rambling again. Well, I and my brother Ures settled into a bush to observe our mother's hunt. That Leks wasn't the serious one. He was off teasing a turtle. "Too slow," he gloated as the turtle snapped at his paw.  
"Damn kids these days," growled the reptile. Obviously, he was getting a bit annoyed. But Ures and I were fascinated by our mother's behavior.

She was approaching the small antelope, and she made so little noise it was as if she weren't there are all. Mother came from downwind, and I observed every twitch of her nose and every flick of the tail. When she was only ten yards away, she sprang. The antelope was surprised and took off running. Oh, but mother was just as fast. She needed only six seconds to go from zero to 70. Only one foot would be on the ground at most times. And at others, she was in the air, no paws at all on the ground, and it seemed she might take flight like a bird at any second. She reached a paw and batted at the antelope's legs, trying to trip it. But after what seemed only a short period, she was going slower, and the antelope bounded away with it's life. The failure was great upon us. I was disappointed.

My mother had seemed like grace in motion. It wasn't fair she had lost the gamble. Not to mention, she looked exhausted after just a short minute's run. However, I admired her greatly, and was envious. I wished I could run at such a speed, and help her in the hunt. When she returned, I told her so. She smiled at me and said, "Amali, you will be a great huntress one day." And I was glad she spoke so. Some mothers are eternally sad for all their lost children, and cannot believe they will ever live to be mothers and fathers themselves. After all, our chances of death are very high in those first months of life.

From then on, Ures and I were always pouching bugs and bothering tiny rodents, playing a game we called Supreme Hunter. Leks was a bit of a goof, and didn't take interest in our games. He preferred to explore rather than play with us. He enjoyed teasing other animals as well. Quite the mischievous young fellow, I must say. I'm glad I wasn't the one who had to raise him.

One day, while I was playing Supreme Hunter with Ures, we hearted a loud splashing and squeals for help. Immediately dropping the butterfly I had finally managed to capture, officially making me Supreme Huntress of the Day (I got to eat half of Ures' food at meal time), we were drawn away from the game. Nearby, we found Leks in a stream, looking half-drowned as he was doing battle with a fish. As fish do, this one was speaking in their odd, air-headed way. It's amazing they even know how to speak, given the fact they have short-term memory loss.

"What is this dig dally day, wotwot! Ode, such pain in my scalies! Put me down you tin-headed mop struttle!" shouted the fish, splashing and hitting Leks across the face with his tail. Leks immediately released the fish from his claws and stumbled back, looking dazed. Ures and I laughed quite a lot, finding it highly amusing as Leks climbed out of the pond, appearing bemused and embarrassed. From then on, Leks never did have much a taste for fish. Of course, they were difficult to catch, and we only tried to get one when we were bored. I sort of like them, but it was Ures who was fond of the taste. My mother would always praise us whenever we caught a fish or a mouse, or any sort of critter that was edible. At first, only she would devour our catches, since we were still nursing. But as we were weaned, we began to eat our own meals, while she struggled to bring down bigger game.

If you asked me back then, I would indeed say that I much preferred Ures as a brother than Leks. Leks was air-headed, and with each of his misadventures we had a chance to witness, he grew to resent us and our amusement. It wouldn't be until later years that I began to understand my other brother, and become true friends with him. For those days of youth, I suppose you could call us at an uneasy truce. He would play alone, or sometimes talk with the other creatures of the animal kingdom. Strangely, he would make friends among the oddest of others. I once saw him talking with a young giraffe whom he said was called Kore when I asked, and one again with two young male meerkats. Leks would get annoyed every time I asked him about his activities apart from us.

I don't know how he could make friends so easily. It is true that we swipe at meerkats occasionally, if we get hungry. Giraffes are known to be helpful company, in all actuality. A friendly one will play lookout for us cheetahs when we're eating our food, warning us if any other predators are headed towards us so we can finish up quick and make haste. I suppose that making relationships that could be beneficial later on was rather clever of him, but I think he was actually just messing around. I doubt Leks even though about how useful it would be to have a giraffe or a meerkat as a friend. Likely, he just wanted some company away from Ures and me.

When we were around six months old, it was plain that Ures and I were tight together. We were inseparable, and best friends. Leks was kept out of the loop, and I regret to say it likely hurt him to be a third wheel in the family. Mother treated us all the same, but seemed to pay extra attention to Leks. At first I was jealous, and would often try to shove him out of the way or do something to get her attention. This further pushed Leks and I apart. He was resentful of us, and it was likely he would leave us as soon as possible. Young as I was, I probably would of said good riddance at first. But I know I would have missed him, as bothersome and odd as he was back then. At some point, I began to realize that he needed to be treated extra special by mother. Otherwise, he would have been even more resentful, and might have fled the family. It would of resulted in his death.

It wouldn't be until our seventh month of life that a tragic experience finally brought Leks and I to a permanent truce. While I am glad I finally became friends with your Uncle Leks, the events before then were my first taste of fear.


	3. Enemies

_Day is reserved for we cheetahs_. While many of our other feline cousins are creatures of the dark, we hunt when the sun is high, and use our eyes to find our prey, instead of our noses. The women are solitary, and the men are social. It is a unique structure, and it is how we get by in life, as we all well know. In the early morning, our mother brought us the young of a smaller breed of antelope, live.

It was time to practice the hunt. The thing shrilled in terror every time Ures, Leks, or I batted it around. While I felt a little sorry for it, I thought it was a lot more fun than running down field mice. Loping, I was shocked to find that Leks was much better at catching the antelope than Ures or myself. He seemed to swipe with good aim and got the choking bite nearly perfectly by the end of our practice. I myself always fell flat on my face every time I tripped the critter. Ures managed to accomplish tripping without falling by the end, but never turned fast enough to spring in to slash the jugular.

Eventually, mother rewarded Leks by letting him deliver his first killing bite. He clutched the throat of the antelope in his jaws until it suffocated. The light left it's eyes and it was unmoving after two hours of being a simple toy. While we all felt bad for the life taken, we knew one day our own bodies would be fodder for all herbivores, in the Circle of Life. Besides, there was no time to feel pity for our food. We ate quickly once we killed, knowing the scent of death would draw hyenas. The little thing was only enough to fill up one of us on our own. Split between we cubs and our mother, it wasn't nearly enough.

That afternoon, mother was on the hunt again. Because we had already practiced today, us three were goofing off. Our mother managed to take down the prey and was calling us over. As soon as we arrived at the feast, however, five shadows sprang from the grass. Spotted Hyenas. They leered at us and giggled manically. A large female stepped forward. The matriarch of the group, obviously. Her gaze was vicious and she bared her fangs. My mother stepped back, and pressed her hind into us, forcing us to retreat. We were scared. I think the hyenas could smell our fear, because they started laughing even louder. I know you've met their lot before.

"What's all this, now, ehhhh? Come to give us a feast, have you dear kitties?" cooed the Alpha Female, her grin wide and filled with malice.  
"Hehehehe, all for us, all for us, right Mikara?" cackled a young male, glancing at the leader.  
"Hush, Gobara," she hissed, glaring at him. Obviously, _she _wanted to be in control of the situation. Mikara needed no input from her subordinates.  
"It is… our… pleasure…" said Mother through gritted teeth. "Come children. Let us leave."  
"Where do you think you going?" Mikara said sharply, showing her fangs in a smirk that would give anyone nightmares. "Who said you could leave? This won't fill us up, you know!"

And that's when I knew. I just knew that it wasn't going to end prettily. "Run!" cried Leks. We all turned and made off. Our mother urged us on and kept us going. Three of the hyenas came after us, including Gobara and Mikara. We put serious distance between them and us at the start, but we three children were starting to lag. Our mother urged us to run faster. However, we were still so young, and hadn't developed the endurance to keep going. In a last ditch effort, suddenly Ures stopped. I was going to stop as well, thinking we were going to make a last stand. However, he yelled at us to keep going. Our mother urged us on, even resorted to force to keep Leks and me moving. She kept running as well.

Of course, he was giving them what they wanted. A free meal. Letting the beasts prey upon a poor mother and her cubs. Ahhh, do not speak, my child. I realize that this is quite proving a point, Morus, that letting males and females mix in coalitions could be safer not only for the cubs, but for the females themselves. But please, hold your questions for now.

I could hear the snap of bones behind me and the screaming and the mad laughter. It is not something I will ever forget. The memory is so vivid in my mind, I can exactly remember ever detail, every conversation. We were nearly half a mile off when I finally looked back. I could see Mikara carrying a limp yellow form in her jaws. I know that Ures' bones now rest somewhere in hyena territory. If you and your Rebellion ever go there to exact your revenge on those beasts as well, I wish you to bless all the bones of our brothers and sisters you find there.

My mother was distraught. She cried for days. I myself wept with her. It seemed impossible that my brother, my dearest friend since I was born, could be gone. Leks hid whatever mourning he had. I never once saw him cry, although often I spotted him turning away to hide his sadness. I suppose that's what makes him strong. Even though he appeared gullible and curious and foolish, he understood more than he ever let on. I can really appreciate how reliable he was for both mother and I. While Ures and Leks had been quite the opposites, Leks still missed his sibling. After all, blood is thicker than water, as they say.

Regardless, we spent our time in mourning. Our mother still hunted, but both Leks and I could tell her heart wasn't in it since her success rate was much lower than it had been. Usually she caught one of every two animals she hunted. This was actually average for a cheetah. Yet, she had to hunt sometimes six or seven times those days to actually catch something, since she never really ran all out. It took almost two weeks for her to finally start realizing we were suffering. I asked her about other times, when our elder siblings and half-siblings had perished during her careful raising. Should she not be used to such things at her age? She sat me down, apart from Leks. This was a mother-daughter talk. No males allowed. And then she said seriously, "The death of every creature is a tragedy. Many of my children have died, and many in similar incidents. But I loved each and every one just the same, and I cried for them whenever one died, and laughed happily whenever one lived."

Pausing, she called Leks over. It seemed she was opening the discussion up for the whole family to listen to. "One day, you will find yourselves without me." Of course, I thought at that time. Everyone grows up, and everyone dies in the end. But I didn't interrupt. "When that day arrives, know that you both will have each other, until you both split to find your own paths. So learn to be strong, my darlings. Despite my own foolishness in my old age, do miss those who die. But don't let your feelings risk yourself or those you care about. This is one of the most important things I can teach you."

Leks and I nodded in understanding. It was plain that she was saying although we could long for our brother, we shouldn't let his sacrifice be for nothing. I tried to teach my own children the same thing, and I hope they passed on that nugget of wisdom to you. And perhaps you will pass it all on to your family as well.

* * *

Through the next three months, as my brother and I were now ten months old, we begun to meet other enemies that we would distrust by instinct. The wild jackal, the hyenas, even the eagles that flew so freely. Eagles would eat younger cubs if they could get a chance, after all. But Leks and I would be in for a shock soon. For we would meet some enemies whom I would not at first think them so. Yet, after this next encounter, it was ground into my head at last: we are surrounded. Stronger predators who will kill us if they get a chance encircle us cheetahs. There is no mercy for us. Our food is taken, our children murdered, and our life spans are considerably poorer because of it.

Hunting had been good. Leks was more friendly to me those days. At the very least, he didn't snap at me whenever I got lonely and followed him off to meet his friends. While they never tried to get close with me myself, the critters seemed to trust Leks. He was a friendly cheetah, all around. Of course, perhaps it was because I was clumsily trying to hunt small prey on my own at the time. Once, I caught a jackrabbit. My mother was so proud, and Leks cheered me on, smiling. I felt very smug about it. Later, I saw him take down a baby antelope – one of the smaller breeds, of course. I realized he hadn't said anything then to spoil one of my proudest moments. He was and ever after would be one of the best hunters I ever met. His success rate was nearly perfect.

In fact, it wouldn't be long before I actually came to Leks to ask for help in teaching me to hunt. While mother did her best, I wanted to know what techniques one my own age used to do even better than our own parent. He carefully taught me how to swipe without falling, by telling me to practice watching my own feet. Leks told me to first trip and then turn away before coming back to the prey for the killing bite, even though he managed to trip and then attack in a much smoother fashion.

The day we encountered a new breed of enemy was not quite as special as the death of Ures, but indeed very interesting nevertheless. Mother had found an old, ailing warthog. We'd only had a taste of warthog before, when she had found a piglet that strayed too far from its mother. I have to admit, the taste in astoundingly good. I especially enjoy the haunches, myself. We were in the middle of eating when my mother raised her head and growled. It was a vocalization of warning. Immediately, my brother and I leaped away from the corpse, raising our eyes to look around for the threat.

While my mother didn't yowl as she might during extreme peril, I could tell from her expression that she might as well have. And quickly I understood why she only growled lowly to tell us there was an enemy lurking. Approaching us was a pair of lionesses. They were so huge to me then and there. Heavy set with powerful looking claws. At first, I didn't understand. Lions are the most powerful presences in a territory. We respect them and their King, and never encroach into their business. But quickly, the two females made the situation apparent to me.

"Queen Corva," said my mother in the most respectful of tones. "It is a pleasure to see you today. And you…?"  
"Hinna," said the second lioness promptly. Hinna was a bright crème in color, and seemed slightly friendly towards us, if not indifferent. Her yellow gaze was mild. It was Queen Corva who appeared the aggressive one. Her gaze was shadowed, and she sneered down upon us cheetahs.  
"My, my, my, Miss Jambi, two more little darlings. I myself have four at home that need taking care of."  
"That is good, my Queen," murmured Mother. "The legacy of the King is indeed in good paws." Corva looked down at the warthog cadaver, appearing almost casual when she continued her train of thought. "Oh Miss Jambi, since I have more children to feed, surely you could spare me some of your meal?"

My mother bowed her head. "Of course, my Queen. What is mine is yours." I couldn't believe it! My mother was giving in so easily. It was quite obvious that even if my mother had declined, that Corva would of taken the food anyway. It was true she had no choice but to forfeit our meal – otherwise, one of us could get hurt. And injury can lead quickly to death. It was not her action in giving in to the Queen's wishes that bemused me. It was that she did it without a hint of bitterness or anger. It was as if she genuinely _wanted _to give the old hag our hard earned food! As if she really lived to serve.

"Hinna. Bring that. Darling, look what _I _found," called Corva, leaping off and calling out towards a male lion with a full, golden mane. He looked curiously at the pig and then at our little family, huddled with large eyes, looking sadly after our lost meal. He simply turned away, ignoring our silent pleading.

From that day forward, it was clear as crystal. Lions were no good. No lion would ever be good. And for a very long time after, I would hate them almost as much as hyenas. They were just as bad as those scavengers. The worst of them will take our food. The best of them will enable the worst of them to do so. There was and likely always will be nothing we can do to break this chain of command.

We are just too weak.


End file.
